Player Of Sorts
by Anonymous3004
Summary: AU: Damon runs into a certain doppelganger at a bar and the good ol' sexy times come rushing back. Rated M for smut.
1. Chapter 1

Damon couldn't point out the exact moment she set her 5-inch high spiky boot in the bar but his body sensed her presence and immediately hardened in blatant appreciation. Following his teammates' somewhat glassy stares, he slanted a cool glance over his shoulder - He had, after all, seen - and had - much better than what was on offer in the bar. His eyes finally managed to pick the source that was leaving the bar's male population flustered and he immediately froze. Slowly craning his neck for a proper look, his eyes drunk in the all-too-feminine body perched on one of the bar stools, sheathed in a skimpy one-piece made of some sheer material that just begged to be ripped, right down to where it skimmed the tops of her thighs, displaying way too much sexy leg. What really completed the perfection of the visual was perhaps the fact that she seemed wholly unaware that half the bar was following her movements as though hypnotized. His lips perked upwards in co-ordination with the rest of his body. He'd thought that slaughtering the most feared team in the tournament had been enough, but the Gods apparently had another present in mind for him.

Crouching down to breathe a warning, " _Mine_ ," in one of his much shorter and much younger teammate's ear, he motioned the barman over. "Your finest whiskey for the babe in black." He settled back to wait and continued to watch her hungrily, even as she shifted in her seat and the dress slid yet higher, revealing yet more delicious leg. She was a present, all right. One that he intended on unwrapping at leisure.

Elena sat up bolt upright on the bar stool and stared at the glass the barman had just set in front of her. "For me?" she echoed in confusion. The barman seemed to take his time sliding her dress an appreciative once-over before replying, "Courtesy our star player." She followed his gaze and her eyes narrowed at the sight of the devilishly sexy guy lounging in one of the secluded booths at the back. A player. An egotistical player, no less, given his need to flash his star status by wearing his team jersey to a nightclub. A jersey that was currently stretched taut over his broad chest... Probably because it was harboring a monumental ego, her brain snapped. She had come here to avoid detection, not risk further exposure by parading on the arm of some bigshot player, she chided herself, trying to ignore the way her insides clenched deliciously at the thought. She tipped her head back to take in his 6 foot plus frame and met his gaze head on as she whispered her response to the barman.

"She said WHAT?!" Damon watched in cynical disbelief as the barman set the untouched glass of whiskey before him, even as his teammates howled with mirth behind him; watching him actively chase a woman, instead of just having them come on to him, wasn't a sight they saw daily. Having his advances rebuffed was yet rarer. "Told ya, mate. She ain't interested," the barman shrugged, not quite able to keep his satisfaction in check. "We'll see about not interested," he muttered under his breath as he sauntered over at a casual pace, noting with satisfaction as her eyes widened and her breasts pouted invitingly under the sheer fabric. If she really was uninterested, she was sure doing one hell of a shoddy job of it.

"Forgive me, I don't believe we've met. Damon Salvatore," he offered his hand, irritated with himself for feeling peeved that her eyes didn't immediately light up in recognition. She considered him for a minute before taking his hand, "I take it you are a player of some sort?" her eyes flicking to his jersey and straying there for longer than was necessary for someone who wasn't interested. Rather than letting go of her hand, he jerked her closer, his finger sliding down to delicately stroke the inside of her wrist. Enjoying her startled gasp, he asked, "Do you have a name or do you just go by Not Interested?" turning up the charm to a hundred watts. "Usually I do, but you can call me Really Not Interested." So she liked to play games. Too bad he wasn't used to losing. Leaning in closer, he whispered in her delicate shell of a ear, "Something wrong with the whiskey?" To his surprise, instead of backing away, she took on his challenge and leaned in closer until they were inches apart. "Not really," she breathed. Now this was more like it. She moved yet closer so that her breath was feathering across his lips, "It's just that I usually take mine with a lot lesser testosterone." With that parting shot, she tugged her hand free and melted into the crowd. Ouch. Two brush offs in one night. This woman was bad for his reputation. And even worse for his libido. Downing her untouched whiskey in one go and ignoring the catcalls from his teammates, he followed her cute butt out of the hotel's bar.

"Oh no, you DIDN'T. You didn't just stalk me all the way over here!" Her voice rose a few octaves and her eyes widened in disbelief as he followed her into the empty elevator and the doors swished close behind him. He responded with a devilish grin, "You are right, I didn't. I have a guy to do such stuff for me. One of the perks of being a player of sorts," he winked. Stepping yet closer, he enjoyed the heated blaze that flashed in her eyes in response to his proximity. "If you want me to leave, you just have to say the word." After watching her battle internally for two whole minutes, he covered the rest of the distance between them - He may be a gentleman, but he sure as hell was no saint. "Please, I don't do random hookups with strangers," she pleaded on a breathless note; her body's reaction belying her feeble protest. "All the more reason for us to get acquainted," he murmured as he singlehandedly jammed the mastercard into the slot, effectively trapping them between floors. Lowering his head, he brushed his lower lip with hers. At his first touch, her defenses seemed to melt away; her lips parted to grant him entry and her hands reached up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, even as he pressed her back against the elevator wall. He'd intended to leave her in peace once he'd sampled a taste and satisfied his curiosity, but even as the thought entered his head, she let out a decadent moan that unearthed something primitive in him. With a responding growl of his own, his fingers bunched up the lower half of her dress to explore underneath, never breaking the heavenly contact of their lips.

While he'd had his share of wild, a hotel elevator was probably not the smartest place to be doing the nasty, but before common sense could make an appearance, her hands hungrily reached for the neck of his jersey and she tugged, cleanly ripping the fabric into two. "Oops. I hope your team can afford an extra jersey for a player of sorts," she mumbled against his lips, even as her hands got busy exploring the skin on display, before straying even lower to the zipper of his pants. Well, she'd asked for it. Her wicked grin vanished as his fingers reached the barrier of her panties and swiftly discarded them. Anchoring her knees to his hips, he replaced his fingers with his heated length, barely able to bite back a moan at the first silken contact. Lowering his mouth to hers to absorb her cries, he began working his way inside her; every stroke testing his control until finally she arched her release and he followed suit.

His breathing labored, he allowed her to sidle down, the silken slide of her skin against his serving only to reawakening his desire. "I - I," he muttered, stunned to find his voice shaky. "I'm sorry," he said, finally managing a gruffer tone. "That was no way to treat a lady." He waited for the recriminations, or worse, the awkward silences and stilted conversation as she pulled a hasty exit, but when he finally unpeeled himself from her, a wicked grin was forming on her flushed face as she stared from his room key to him. "Well then, you'll just have to make it up to me, won't you?"


	2. Chapter 2: Encounter Of Sorts

Her nails scraped lightly over his chest; drawing out the minimal contact until he could feel his heart thudding in time to her heightened breathing. With a groan, he pushed himself deeper into the kiss, his insides flipping as he tasted himself in her. He growled hungrily as she performed an encore and started placing open mouthed kisses lower and lower until she reached to take him in whole just before… The floor slammed into his face. Shaken, Damon woke up and cursed as the hangover of what had been his most ahm, arousing dream yet began to clear. Shaking the hair out of his eyes, a determined smile began to form.

His last dream wasn't based entirely on fiction, after all and he had just what, or rather, just _who_ he needed to turn it into a reality. Fighting free of the tangle of sheets that had joined him in his southward descent, he reached over to the other side of the bed and grasped… Thin air. For the second time that morning, Damon Salvatore cursed until a pounding from his captain next door told him to cut it out. Okay, so perhaps they had been a bit on the louder side last night. In fact, as a betting man, he wouldn't put good money on the bedpost standing upright much longer after all that it had been subjected to last night. Then what? It had been mind-blowing for him. And he also knew that he wasn't too far off the mark when it came to saying that her world had been decisively rocked as well. Which begged the question why? Since when had chicks started running out on him rather than sticking around for some good ol' fashioned morning-after friskiness?

Since the reproachful bedpost refused to play therapist, he quit and decided to try his luck with the showerhead for some answers. In the absence of her delectable body, an icy shower was all that he would be having for breakfast. Grumpily locating his boxers on the floor, he started to heave them on before his toe stubbed against a pointy something on the floor.

It was official. His shitty morning had just gotten shittier. SPARTA flashed across his brain as she located the offending object. Hopping on one foot in agony, he raised his arm to fling it to the far reaches of the North, or well, at least outside the window until the screen flashed and her face smiled back benignly at him. Her arm fell limp to his side… She'd forgotten her phone behind. She'd gone to lengths of sneaking away while he'd been asleep and left her phone behind. Get a grip, his brain commanded. This wasn't goddamn Cinderella and he wasn't going to locate her with this glass slipper-esque clue. He raised his arm to hurl it out of the window before pulling a volte face and roughly zipping it into his duffel bag for reasons he didn't want to examine closely.

Trisha stifled a yawn and tried to straighten the crick in her neck inconspicuously. Or well, as inconspicuously as was possible while being wedged behind a locker and a shower cubicle. As it turned out, all the myths were just… Myths. The men's locker room didn't reek of sweat, after all. Rather, the locker room she'd just stepped into was doused with an assortment of at least a billion different colognes, potent enough to take down a small country. Head swimming, she'd hurriedly checked to ensure that she was in the locker room indeed and not the Annual Convention For Obnoxiously Strong Colognes. Having futilely tried to break into Damon's locker, she'd realized that she'd have to accost him when he returned from practice. Handicapped without a phone to tell her what the time was, she realistically estimated that that had been say, six hours ago or longer. Nightfall had probably come and gone, she rued. Seasons had probably changed while she was here… The sound of thunderous footsteps brought her up short. From her hiding spot, she spied a pair of powerful legs marching furiously towards the shower room. The same pair of legs that had not so long ago been wrapped around… She gave a yelp of horror as the heel of her stiletto snapped and she tumbled head first out of her hiding spot. Hastily drawing breath and gathering the tatters of her dignity, she looked up to find that she was crouched on one knee in front of aforementioned pair of legs.

Her gaze travelled all the way up to his face, which looked pretty nonplussed for someone who had just had his last one night stand fling herself at his feet. A tiny frown furrowed his brow, he shook his head as though to snap himself out of it, dumped his duffel bag in a corner and shouldered his way through the door.

Wait, what? She blindly straightened and reached for his duffel on auto pilot. Did he just… She thumbed through the pockets at the side and finally palmed her precious phone. Sure, theirs was a casual one night deal. But THAT CASUAL? Fury overrode her vision, and that part of her brain that was begging her to make a quiet escape unscathed found itself gagged with duct tape. She marched, nay, limped on her broken heel right through the door. The steam that hit her in the face should have clued her into _which_ exact room she had followed him into, but there were more important matters at hand. "Now you listen up and listen good," her voice lashed out in a furious hiss. He straightened up in the act of peeling off his shirt and whipped around. "You're real?" he asked dumbstruck.

"No one, absolutely NO ONE just waltzes past… Wait what?" Had the guy lost his marbles? With those pecs, he'd probably get by in life just fine, a voice in her noted admiringly. Stop. Stamping her good heel in frustration, she placed her hands on her hips to enlighten him about… Another set of thunderous footfalls silenced her. The team appeared to have returned. "How do I…" Her sentence was lost as he pressed her behind into a niche and covered her lips with his hand, not caring how much heated flesh he brought in contact in the process. "Honestly, is this the time to…?" "Shut up. Are you trying to have me permanently barred from the team by letting them think that I bring chicks in here?" Her eyes flashed fire, but she couldn't think of a good justification even as in the next room, barely a dozen feet away, the coach began to lay into the team, one member at a time. This was going to take a while.

She squirmed, the contact of their bodies making her decidedly warm as well. "Bothering you, is it?" he dipped his head to whisper devilishly. Yes, oh yes. Her head nuzzled against his as he sucked on that particularly tender spot on her neck. She whimpered unthinkingly. "Why'd you leave?" he demanded hoarsely. Since she couldn't give him the answer he wanted, she leaned up, nails scraping against those pecs as she captured his sinful lips with her own and gave him something else to think about.

It appeared to succeed all too well because less than a minute later, he had her pinned against the wall, her legs straddled around his hips and it was all systems go from there on. "Your team. Coach. Could see…" Her brain refused to form complete sentences as she struggled to control her fractured breathing. "No," her eyes widened. "No, you get your revenge on that coach for telling you off some other way… No," she breathed in absolute bliss as his fingers disappeared beneath the helm of her skirt and unerringly touched her magic spot. Her head fell on his shoulder, the heated flesh causing her insides to clench. "No," she breathed with urgency, as his fingers reached inside, hovering at the entrance… She gave him a rough shake as he refused to enter and then bit down on his shoulder, eliciting a rough groan. "Why'd you leave?" The huskiness of his voice almost undid her, right there. "Why did you leave?" he gritted heavily. Even though she could tell how much it cost him, she closed her eyes, savouring the rough timber of his voice. "Why did you…" His sentence was lost midway as she reached down herself, guided first one, then another of his fingers inside her and began to slowly move.

She heard his gasp, out of shock or admiring approval she wasn't sure, but she threw back her head and focused on the sensations coursing through her. She climbed on the building spiral to ecstasy; unaware that his eyes were drinking in her face, unaware of the raw emotion mirrored on his own face. Her eyes flitted open, her free hand reached up to grasp his hair, "Now," she commanded. There would be time for words later. Really, really later. Undoing his pants, she discovered just how much testosterone he had to burn off and slowly guided him inside her. Slowly, lazily thrusting, he held her gaze as he brought his two fingers up, up and to his mouth. Her eyes widened as first one, then another slipped inside his mouth… And it was then that she knew she was lost.

Breathing heavily, she struggled to bring her breathing back under control, loving how their chests rose and fell in tandem. Loving how his arms tightened around her protectively as he took her weight, knowing intuitively that her legs were about to give out. Her hair clung to his neck as she slowly drew back and good God, had they created the steam fogging the wall behind them? She made an attempt to move until a muted "No," stopped her. He leaned down to rub her nose against his, something primeval crossing his features at the thought of her stepping out of his arms. "No. Mine." Something in her heart swelled and broke as she agreed, "No."

Not a dozen feet away, a ticked off coach continued to rip apart his team for being weak, unaware that his star player had been brought to his knees.


	3. Face-off of sorts

In another life, she'd sidle down sensuously and inquire how soon could they commence with round two. As it happened, twice in 24 hours was already pushing her luck, and while Another Life Elena could afford to get hot and heavy with her new boy toy, her priorities included getting the heck out of Dodge and getting her jollies some other time.

Not that there was nothing jolly about watching his chest rising and falling, breathing still erratic, eyes drawn to half-mast. Hell, she could barely look at his second-day stubble without recalling exactly how delicious it felt against her heated skin.

"Fuck," he whispered, almost to himself. Then, with a little shake of his head, "Fuck," he repeated a little louder. "Stop draping yourself all over me woman, or I will be tempted to do something about it. Again."

She stared pointedly down to where his hands still manacled hers behind her back, her waist pushed right up against his.. Wait, again? Was it even biologically possible... She hastily shut down that train of thought as the increasing murmurs from the other room meant that the team was finally ready to bitch about their hardass coach, at length over a shower preferably.

Her hands flew down to straighten her skirt, even as he pressed into her threateningly. "You set one foot out this door, my career's in the gutter. We have a strict no-girlfriend policy." Her breath caught and her eyes began to sting. "Just as well that I am not your girlfriend then," she whispered and darted beneath his arms.

"Dammit, woman," he growled aggressively as she limped determinedly on her broken heel towards the door, before bending down and snapping the other heel off with a flourish. Why did women spend a fortune on those ridiculous contraptions again?

Fuck, was she headed right into a team full of disgruntled players and one murderous coach? He looked to the tiny bathroom ventilators to contemplate possible escape, but it was of no use. The next planet wouldn't be far enough once his coach got an eyeful of his latest girl. Where was a rosary when you needed to get down on your knees and beg for divine intervention?

For the first time in his adult life, he shrunk his impressive 6'2" frame as she threw open the door and marched to the center room, her face an impassive no-nonsense mask. "If you are done with your dramatic Kardashian-esque rant...?" she raised her eyebrows at the burly coach. "Thanks," she finished sarcastically. "First things first..." "What... even.. who let you into my locker room?" the coach was turning purple with rage. "Shh. Didn't they teach you manners at that outback you grew up in? Or was it all wrestling anacondas with bare hands?" A nervous titter went around the room. "Sit. No, I insist, please do sit." She gestured toward an empty chair and then dismissed him. "As I was saying, first things first, we are cutting off the usage of cologne in this room. Has no one informed you people that wearing ridiculously quantities of potent perfume is a possible distraction and is listed among the 164 fouls?"

A junior player nervously dropped his gloves with a clatter. "Championship of June '93. Look it up, son," she continued gravely. "The cologne rights of the occupants of this room are hereby suspended, pending further investigation. Secondly, I am going to need someone to call up a cab for me; the journey from the Board wasn't quite as easy as it used to beand the Board members aren't happy."

"Now, you listen here," the coach seemed to have found his voice back. "The Board members aren't happy," she repeated warningly. "What do you mean?" "Oh, you know what I mean." A defensive look came on the Coach's face. "If it's about that little incident last week, I can explain." "You have a lot of explaining to do, better make it good." She turned around, dismissing him again. "Where are we on the cab?" "I can book it," one young player offered. "I can drop you home," another one chimed in. "Those heels look hella uncomfortable, girl. Let me fix you up with new ones at the hotel boutique," a third voice piped up.

He growled again and shouldered his way through the door. "It's taken care of," he said curtly, shoving two more enthusiastic faces out of the way. "But the chica needs her some new shoes..." "Taken care of," he said, elbowing his otherwise favourite wingman none too gently out of the way. With a light hand on the small of her back, he led her out of the locker room, which come to think of it, did smell like a perfumery had exploded within.

"How did you even? Respect, woman." "Easy, just mention the words 'The Board' and everyone shuts up," she laughed. "Someday, I will tell you all about how I took over the Times office." He stooped down to roughly whisper, "Let's turn that someday into thirty minutes from now, in my bathtub. Champagne's on me." He was rewarded with a sharp intake of her breath. "No. Where's my phone?" She began looking around. "My phone, I need it. Where's my phone?" "This little thing?" he pulled it out of his back pocket. "Come, take it." He tagged the elevator button and headed inside its lush interiors. She looked from the phone in his hand to the cosy elevator and blushed scarlet. "No, can't. Shan't. Won't." He swiped her lock screen open and began randomly thumbing through the Menu. "Fun texts. And a bazillion missed calls. Oh wait, this text says..." With a muffled cry, she charged headfirst into the elevator just as the doors swished close and tackled him to the ground. The angry tackle soon became an urgent one, nails digging in, even as they both wrestled to be on top. The walls shuddered as they crashed into it, and the decorative 1970s clock flickered and then went out. "Damn. Now look what you've done," her stricken voice rose a few octaves.

"Perfect. Have you ever done it in the dark?" "No. What, no. Keep your hands off. That's for old couples anyway." "Whoops, you reaaally shouldn't have said that. Challenge accepted." With the unerring precision of an athlete, he set about proving just how young people did it in the dark and why you had to be young to do it.


End file.
